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more vigorously. Isabelle!
This time she was answered with shuffles and some wet sniffs. It sounded as if Isabelle was crying.
Let me in. Let me help, Hope said softly. The lock snipped and she gently pushed the door open and froze.
Isabelle stood in the middle of the small room, her face wet with tears, her thin body trembling. Her fingers
were stained dark with blood and a sour smell assaulted Hope s nose. The floor was littered with the contents
of the sanitary bin.
Oh, honey, Hope whispered, shocked.
I couldn t help it. Isabelle choked on a small sob. I just had to tear it apart. I m insane. I m crazy for the
smell of blood, yet I can t eat the steak I m craving. This morning I emptied your fridge, this afternoon my
guts are on fire. I m changing and it s going to kill me. I know it will, and I don t know what to do, Hope.
I know you re going through hell. I ve seen it with the young Garouls. The first time is hard, but once we get
you to Little Dip, Marie will have potions and stuff to help. What else could she say to make this any better?
Hope wrapped her hands in toilet tissue and scooped the contents back into the bin. She dragged Isabelle to
the sink and briskly scrubbed her face and hands with cold water and ran wet fingers through her disheveled
hair.
Okay? Hope rested her hands on Isabelle s skinny shoulders and gave her a small shake of encouragement.
We need to get going. Godfrey will be freaking out.
They left the washroom arm in arm and strolled back to their booth and Godfrey s fretful face.
Those guys were snarling at me. They need some serious dental work, he said as they sat down beside him.
What the hell kept you?
What happens in the ladies room stays in the ladies room. Hope patted his arm comfortingly. What s the
scoop?
We run for it. That s the scoop.
It might be difficult shaking these guys on the way to the car, Hope said.
We need a distraction. Oh! Maybe we could set fire to the tablecloth? It deserves it, he said.
That would bring everyone s attention on to us. Hardly ideal for sneaking out. Hope shook her head in
disbelief.
Order them some food, Isabelle said quietly.
What? Hope turned to her.
They re broke and famished. Look at the way they re watching everyone else s orders pass their table.
They re practically salivating. Have some burgers sent over. If their hunger is anything like mine, they ll be
distracted all right.
But you didn t eat your steak, Godfrey pointed out.
I don t feel good. I m starving, but I can t eat. Under the garish lighting Isabelle was paler than ever.
Why s that? he asked.
I don t know. Maybe it s shock, she said.
Okay. Let s do this. Godfrey waved for the waitress. Excuse me, miss.
When we make a run for it, will you hold my hand? Hope asked Isabelle. My depth perception is out of
whack. When I move too fast, I get disoriented and fall over my own feet.
Deal. Isabelle reached over and gave Hope s hand a reassuring squeeze.
Fifteen minutes later the young men were staring in confused longing at the food set before them. While the
waitress unloaded her tray and explained the people at table two had already paid, Hope, Godfrey, and
Isabelle slid outside as quickly as possible.
They were halfway across the parking lot when the diner door crashed open behind them. Godfrey reached the
car first, jumped in, and revved the engine savagely into life. Hope and Isabelle, running hand in hand behind
him, piled into the backseat, squashing Tadpole.
Godfrey shot out of their parking space before the rear door was shut, narrowly missing their closest pursuer.
Hope looked out the back window, puffing with exertion and relief. All three guys had backtracked and were
piling into a beat-up Ford Escort.
I think we re okay, Hope said. They ll never catch us in that old bonerattler.
A huge, hulking shadow dashed across the road before them, just out of range of the headlights. It was a
meaningful charge, more for show than an attempt to halt the car.
What the hell was that? Hope asked, her heart sinking. She clambered in beside Godfrey.
Reinforcements?
Godfrey tightened his grip on the wheel. I don t know. But I don t think they ll be coming after us in a
bonerattler, somehow.
Chapter Twenty-one
Ren stood on the roadside opposite the trim, well-ordered house with its happy yellow door and neat
flowerbeds. She could tell by its quiet demeanor, from its blank windows and general stillness, that no one was
home. The air around it, though, that was a riot. Wolven musk, den markings, warnings, mate claiming, there
was a lot of werewolf activity at this house.
She glanced up and down the street. It was empty of people and traffic. Lunch was long over, and the schools
had not closed for the day. The early afternoon lull in neighborhoods such as this would continue for at least
another forty minutes. Taking advantage of the quiet, Ren crossed over and disappeared around the back of
the house.
In the secluded yard she took her time and soaked up the multilayered smells. It was a wolf den, calm and
well-ordered, and Isabelle had been here. Had this den taken her in? Ren growled, but it came out sad and
lowly. Not the aggressive claiming growl that had rumbled from her chest at the strangest, most inappropriate
moments. The one that had alarmed fellow passengers on the plane, or the line at the car rental kiosk, and the
ATM. Even the staff at her motel were avoiding her.
Ren hung her head. This home shamed her. It was happy, full of love and positivity. It shone with all she had
failed to bring to her own den. This house had become a cornerstone of the Portland circuit she constantly
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